The Funeral
by HigherMagic
Summary: This is a once-off shot of the after-effects of a newborn attack, as our beloved coven finds their numbers reduced to seven once more. R&R. DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN TWILIGHT.


**Author's Note: This is actually I scene that I dreamt up. I thought it was really sad but the scene wouldn't leave until I wrote it down, so I did in my own little one-shot chapter of the consequences of fighting with newborns. This scene might also star in another fanfic I wrote **_The Neverending Lullaby _**or possibly **_Do you Believe in Destiny? _**but even if it doesn't I will be satisfied that it is here, safe and sound. Enjoy and don't get mad at me for it please!**

**Love you all!**

As the Cullen and the Hale family gathered around the now-gentle smouldering embers of the fire, they stared at it, hardly believing that once again their numbers had been reduced to seven.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," whispered one of the men, the leader. Carlisle watched his sons each with smoky topaz eyes, lingering on the last in particular. "She was stubborn, and would've fought anyway."

The sentence brought a ripple of anger from the figure standing a little way off, but the anger was soon overcome by a giant wave of peaceful serenity from the second male, standing between his brothers. The last male hissed as his anger was stymied in the presence of calm; he didn't want to feel peaceful, he wanted his hate and guilt to consume him, to blind him from the sight of his beloved reduced to a pile of ash and rubble.

The small pixie, no longer her buoyant and cheerful self, gracefully stepped over to her brother, placing her tiny hand on his shoulder. He tensed at her touch, but didn't move away either.

"I'm so sorry, but I didn't see it happen. I should have stopped her; I should have been able to stop this."

Seven eyes involuntarily flickered to the bonfire once more.

"I know," he replied in a curt voice. "It's not your fault, Alice, it was mine. I should have been able to protect her. I should have stayed nearer to her. I -." He stopped, unable to continue as his voice broke in agonized sorrow.

"Nothing would have changed, save for you might have died along with her. Newborns are strong. They had superior numbers. There was little we could have done to help her," Jasper whispered, looking warily at the figure. Such emotions he had never experienced. Grief, yes. Sorrow, yes. But this was such a torrent of self-loathing and guilt, such hatred and pain that he felt himself at a loss to calm it. He couldn't have stopped the feeling even if he had tried.

"I know you are right, Jasper, but I still -."

"Listen to me." Esme cut the speaker off, her eyes flashing as anger overrode her grief. "Listen well. There was nothing you could have done, alright? You are only blaming yourself because no one else will. It was _not _your fault and don't you _dare _to think otherwise."

"Esme…" The figure slumped forward, sobbing with so much broken emptiness Jasper felt he was going to break down if he stayed. Alice sensed his need, and they both left to retreat the fractured figure. Carlisle and Esme followed soon after, unwilling to leave their son but satisfied in the knowledge that he would return once he had recovered.

The last female drifted over to the bronze-haired male, watching the sobbing figure with wide golden eyes. "Edward," she whispered, placing her hand in his. He lifted his head to look at her. "Edward. I think we should leave."

"It was my fault," he murmured to her, softly, like he was in a trance. "I led us into it. It was my fault for not seeing the connection between James and Victoria. None of this would have ever happened if it weren't for me."

"A lot of good things happened because of you too," she answered softly, placing her hand gently on his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "Edward, please, this is my fault if anyone's. I was the temptation after all." A small bitter smile flashed across her beautiful face, and Edward stood up with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. He looked over at his brother.

"Emmett."

The giant vampire looked up from his position on the floor, and tears would have been falling if fate would be kind enough to let them.

"I am so sorry, Emmett, but I know she wouldn't want you to lie broken over her, as her own funeral monument."

The lone male looked down once more to the pile of smoking ashes, his face crumpling in pain once more. He reached a shaking hand out to the fire, as if expecting to feel the form of his now-lost love, but nothing but cold empty air met his grasp.

As Edward watched his brother, listening only with his ears, he looked down at his love, his life. If it had been her that had been lost, he would have acted the precise same way, if not worse so. Relief washed through him that she had not been harmed; not even a scratch marred her perfect form. She smiled a little up at him, her eyes filled with sorrow for her lost sister, and they left, leaving the final Cullen alone in his misery.

Goodbye Rosalie…


End file.
